I miss the whisper of water on sand and the taste of salt and sun. There was laughter too, that summer. A lot of it. It was good to laugh. I miss the warmth of lights on the flimsy staging. The voices in the dusk 'I will hold you'.

I miss the readiness of words on my tongue: miss the fire smouldering in the space between my ears: the way that words - like sparks - could fly from my mouth: the possibility that one - and that's all it would take - one - might ignite a haystack and change the course of the world. Perhaps none did but that's beside the point, surely?

Sometimes, in the late evening
Or when the moon casts shadows over the lawn
Or when the sun lingers behind the sea
Something some thing
Tugs at the place in my body where I think
I think
My soul might hide.
I don't know what that means.
I'm sorry.
I don't know where that was going, really. But I thought, if I put the words down, maybe they would become something. And maybe not.

I miss the way you held my hand in the darkness. I miss the steadiness of your arm around my waist. The solid sense of your body beside mine. I don't understand why it sounds romantic when I write the words down.

I miss the ease of friendship without time zones. Conversations not limited by distance or the rotation of the earth: the distribution of land between water. How can you belong to a planet but not a country? I wish there was an answer. I wish there were more answers.

I miss late nights in fluorescent lights as you traced the lines of my palm. Every curve every crease every callus every scar. You said you wanted to memorise the feel of me. I wonder, sometimes, if you could tell my hand from a hundred others - a thousand - ten thousand - in however many hands could you tell mine apart. I'm not sure that you could. I wouldn't expect you to.

I miss your autumn eyes. The eyes that meet mine steadily across a table - a sofa - room - pillow - park bench. Through a screen. In a mirror.

I miss water so cold it steals the breath from my lungs. I miss the long evenings: the hazy golden sunlight and the mild nights: air heavy with the scent of rhododendron blossom. And the lights across the bay.

I miss telling you everything.

.

I miss everything.